


The Diary of Sir Guy of Gisborne - season 3

by PepperF



Series: Guy's Diary [3]
Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:19:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guy's Diary - season 3</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: this season Guy basically has two settings: homicidal or suicidal, so please be warned.

You are DEAD Marain an I cannot see you so donot think you can give me that look!

Ayway it wasn my fault Hood forced me do to it!

hell be bac soon an then we'l see. It will be a fiegt to the death, his frends will not stop us this time

LEAVE ME ALONE MARIAN

 

 

Marian come bak i mis you

\---

30th April, in this the year of our Lord 1194

I have killed him! I have killed Hood! But no one beleive me. The Sheriff thins I am drunk. Perhapsso, I hav been drinking synce last Octobr but all the same, I KILLD HOOD. 

Proof? Sir Jasper can go an - and - whistle for it! I know I killed him. Hood cam seeking me and i killed him.

But what if I did not? He stunned his head on the rock during our fight and I threw him from the cliff and he must have drownd in the river below. he must hav. But what if he didn't? That monk, Tuck, said the water must have takn his body away. He mus be right. But what if Hood is out there somewhere, waiting, waiting to kill me? He might creep in some night. He would not find me sleeping, thouogh! I do not sleep. I do not want to sleep!

Marian, jus go, stop talking to me, I cannot hear you, you are DEAD. Robin took you from me so it was his fault, don't you see? And now he is dead, why are your spirits not together, leaving me alone, so alone...

You are waiting for him, I know. He should be with you. Are you here becaus he's not dead? Maybe he will find me adn kill me. It would be a mercy. 

Go away Marian. Or if you will not, at least fech me another wineskin.

\---

31 Aprl in thiss yr ofr Lord 194

He wouldnot kill me why would he not kill me? Doesnt he want his revenge? 

hode is laughing at me. I am cursed. Even the sun turned her back on me today. She hid and let him rescue his men an then she came out and shon on him an he wudnt even kil me tho i beggd him to end it

so tired but I cant - i don't dare to sleep- the demons, clawing at my brain - that monk was a demon too i think

if I am unconsh uncon blind drunk they cant find me tho so hah

maran where ar you tonit oh yes I KILLD YOU ME ME I DID ME IT WAS ME I KILLED YOU AND MY PARENTS AND EVRYON I EVER LOVED ME I DID IT me it was al me

Marian were are you

\---

12th May, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

I am NOT AFRAID of the Sheriff. I am too angry to be fearful. Nothing frightens me but my dreams. I think they are a precursor to my punishments in Hell. I have not slept a full night in... a while.

The wine helps. I can see the Sheriff is afraid – I CAN SEE YOUR FEAR, VAISEY! I could crush you. I know all your secrets. I coud tell Pirnce John everything. You would be well served. You are to blame for her death as much as Robin! Always talking talkng talking about Marian and how she din't love me and she was playing mefor a fool and such. IT DROVE ME MAD! 

Now prince John wants a thousand crowns each month for protecing the Shreiif from the King bcause of what we did in the Holy Land. So the sheriff is selling our peasants to the Irish rebels for soldiers. Prince John would have his head if he found out. Hah!

Damned Irish. The one, Tiernan, is a drunk and a rouge, good at figthing and womanising but 0 branes. His brother is the one to beware of, Finn, he's the leader, he has all the shcemes. Tiernan thinks he can get his own allys and go his own way, I seen him cosying up to the Sherif. he can't see that he's nothing without his brother. 

Damn the peasnats, too, theyre always whining. I can't pay my taxes! I don't want my tonge cut out! I dn't want to go to Irland! anyone would think they had rights. As if I shuld care fi they al die. What dose it matter? What does anything mater aymore?

\---

13th May, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

I am betrayed by the Sheriff! Curse him! Hood foiled his plan to sell the peasants, so the Sheriff had nothing to give Prince John's men – so he handed me over, in lieu of the thousand crowns! I am on my way to London, to explain why the fine has not been paid. I have no explanation! Prince John will execute me! The Sheriff knows this, and yet he gleefully sacrifices me! 

He took my sword, and I was too slow to react. My head ached so, and the bright sunlight pierced my eyes. I sobered quickly when I understood his intention, but it was too late. I have been a FOOL.

I cannot believe he has done this, after all we have been through together. After everything I have done! I showed my loyalty to him – I chose HIM over MARIAN! My life was damned, the moment I made that decision. Oh Marian, Marian... why was I so blind?

But you were never my choice to take, despite your offer. Hood claims you were his wife. But how? When? Is it pure fancy, the ravings of another poor fool who has lost you? I'd swear you were not yet his when we travelled to the Holy Land – and there was no time... God's teeth. In those last few moments, as you bled out on the sand and I fled my crime – did you marry him then, blessed by the wounded King, and with the outlaws looking on and weeping? No wonder Hood hates me.

Hood will be cheated of my death. I could almost welcome it, from his hand – the hand of one who loved you as I did. Only he might truly understand the depths of my despair – my horror at what I have done. But to be betrayed – to be given over and killed simply because I am the bearer of bad tidings – a fine that could not be paid... I would not sell myself so cheaply!


	2. Chapter 2

19th May, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

I cannot believe this is happening. I am imprisoned at Wallingford, Prince John's current residence. I am locked in a tower room – I think more for my former status as one of the Prince's Black Knights than because of my own title. My jailor is almost kindly, he has given me parchment and ink – but not wine, so I am curst sober. I do think it took me the last few days to get over my hangover, for the weakness and trembling in my limbs has only recently subsided, and the head-ache persists even now. 

I have sent word to Prince John, begging for him to visit me. If he will only let me explain, I feel sure I could make him understand that I am his loyal subject – that I have done everything in my power to further his cause!

Perhaps it would be best if I do not betray the Sheriff's Irish scheme – my part in it might be called into question, and I would have to explain why I did not come straight to the Prince with the information. No, that will not do. But I can tell him how the Sheriff has mismanaged Nottingham – how he lets Hood run amok and continually frustrates my plans to kill him. I would have executed Hood on the spot when we took him prisoner last week, but the Sheriff did insist we lock him up to later enjoy the "poetry of pain" (of course Hood escaped). And for what? I know that Hood suffers. No mere physical pain could be worse than what I have already inflicted.

Today is my birthday. God I wish I could get out, or get drunk. I do not want to be locked in here with my thoughts!

\---

30th May, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

Prince John consented to visit me at last. I have flung myself on his mercy. 

I have never spoken directly to the Prince before. I fear I babbled – I have been trapped in here for so long with just my thoughts, my rage, and my despair for company. I told him about the Sheriff's incompetence. I told him of my many plans for ridding Nottingham of the plague of Robin Hood. I begged for his understanding. I do not know if he listened. I spoke of my ambitions, the glory I would bring to his name, if he would just free me...

I may have made a misstep. I talked of how I was a landless knight, and I think it reminded him of how the people call him 'Lackland' and laugh behind their hands at him. I do not think he feels empathy – I believe he prefers not to think about it – but if he will only understand me, and see that I have just as strong a drive as he to rise above my situation!

He has the power to have me killed on the spot, or brought to the heights of my ambition. I trembled at his feet. He is known to be capricious, and I feared he would have his guards take me out and behead me there and then for the Sheriff's crimes. But he only listened and spoke little, responding only with a smile when I swore my loyalties were to him alone.

I await his judgement. If he will only be moved to be magnanimous! I do not know if I am being held at his displeasure, or if he has simply forgotten me again and left me here to rot. Meanwhile, I stalk my prison and kick the door and shout and rage. I am at turns fearful, angry, desolate... Damn the Sheriff! How could he do this to me?! 

I will get out of here, whatever it may take, and I will have my revenge. And oh, it will be sweet. I have spent too many years as that man's dog. No more. He is a detestable snake – he has poisoned everything good in my life. He tortured and twisted my mind against Marian until I did not know what was real. It is his fault that I killed her!

He has warped my soul to feed his plans, tantalising me with visions of what my life could be if I follow him – and now, when I am no longer convenient, when he needs a suitable sacrifice, he throws me to the lions! My eyes are truly opened to his perfidy at last. I will be free of him. I am his disciple no longer!

\---

6th June, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

My execution is set for tomorrow. Soon it will all be over. Anger seems futile, now. Everything seems futile.

I have perforce been thinking a lot about my life, and I have realised: I have been damned for a long time – long before I took Marian's life. Since Robin and I were children. Since the fire that killed my parents, and Robin's father. Hood has more than one good reason to hate me.

It was an accident. I did not mean to set it. Robin's father, Sir Malcolm, came to take my father away from me again. He thought my father would endanger the village with his leprosy. But father would not have harmed anyone! Mother explained: only close contact would spread the disease. Father would not even embrace us. He just needed to speak to mother. I have never known what was so urgent that he risked it – I hoped at the time that he meant to come home, or to let us go with him into exile, but I do not think that could be the case. He would not have inflicted that on us. Most likely he planned to return to the Holy Land, to rejoin the Knights Hospitaller.

To protect my father, I reached for the only weapon I had to hand – a brand from the fire. But Sir Malcolm pushed me back, and it fell from my hand. The fire took so quickly! I dragged my sister to safety, and we waited outside, with Robin and all the villagers. The cursed Bailiff would not let anyone go for water, he shouted that Sir Malcolm set the fire on purpose, to burn out the disease – but it was not true! We waited, but my parents and Sir Malcolm never emerged from the manor. In one stroke, I made Isabella and I homeless, and orphaned us both, and Robin too.

The burden of that has been on me ever since, and I had given up any hope of Heaven – until I met Marian. Then I began to believe that I might be washed clean. But I destroyed that hope. I proved once again that I am irredeemable. Perhaps, once I am dead, I will be able to find Marian again. I do not deserve her forgiveness, but I can tell her how much I regret – how much I wish I had not – how I do not understand the madness that came over me. In one stroke, I took her life, and turned my own world to ash and dust. The moment I realised what I had done, I would have given anything to undo it.

Lord, I wish I could get drunk.

\---

8th June, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

What a thing it is to have power. Prince John has pardoned me!

This is my chance to prove myself – to show that the Sheriff was holding me back. The Prince has demanded that I prove my loyalty by bringing down Robin Hood, once and for all. It will be my pleasure! I am to come up with a plan, and return to Nottingham, with all the resources I need – horses, weapons, and best of all, some of the Prince's own elite guards. And I have been to visit the royal menagerie, and it has given me the most wonderful idea for how to put an end to Hood, once and for all.

He also instructs me to remind the Sheriff that he is still awaiting his thousand crowns. He has exercised wonderful restraint in allowing the Sheriff to delay this first payment, but he will not be put off forever. I cannot wait to see the Sheriff's face when I give him the message. If he does not manage it – and I cannot see how he will – perhaps he will not be Sheriff for much longer. And if I can prove myself... 

The court is most elegant, and I have been given luxurious rooms, and – at the Prince's gentle hint – have bathed and washed my hair thoroughly. I had not been keeping myself to the standard befitting the Royal court. I am not comfortable in such surroundings (not yet!). I have met the Archbishop of Rouen, the Sheriff of Lincolnshire, the Earls of Devon and Arundel, Sir Henry de Grey... and many other great lords and ladies. 

They dress in glorious colours here, and I feel dour and tongue-tied beside them. One of the many women who decorate the Court with their beauty said that I was like a hawk amongst peacocks – but as soon as she had quizzed me about my lands and money, she found reason to be elsewhere. Prince John was good enough to say that he prefers soldierly men, and asked to hear about some of my more exciting exploits, so I told him of something of our battles with Hood, careful to choose only those wherein we succeeded. There were embarrassingly few of those – but fortunately the Prince's interest was of short duration.

I am keeping clear of too much wine, in fear of losing my head – literally. I know my position is not so safe, despite the Prince's expressions of confidence. I must be wary; I must be clever... and I must return to Nottingham and kill Hood.

\---

14th June, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

Arrived back in Nottingham. I am camped outside the town. I have chosen not to inform the Sheriff of my return. He will discover it soon enough, no doubt.

Now to implement my ingenious plan, inspired by the royal menagerie: Prince John agreed to lend me one of the pair of lions in his possession – frightful creatures! I have never seen such teeth before. The Prince says that their claws are their cruellest weapon. When let loose on prey, they bring it down with their great weight, and rend it horribly. I will starve the animal, and then set it loose on Hood. Let him try to connive his way around a lion! Prince John was much amused at the thought of feeding Richard's most loyal subject to the symbol of the King's power.

Prince John's men are a wonder to behold – fast, obedient, skilful – it is all I could wish for in an army. I have been drilling them in a routine to drive the lion forward, and to anger it with noise, so that it will attack anyone I place before it – namely Hood and his gang. The Prince also furnished me with maps – the best available! – so that I may surround Hood, separate him and his men, and drive them into my trap.

It cannot fail. I have visited the creature in its cage tonight, and fed it a meagre meal, enough only to keep it alive and hungry for more. It is terrifying – it threw itself at the bars, and I fell back in a hurry, lest it break free! If Hood be not unnerved when facing this creature, he is not made of flesh and blood. 

I always thought that cats were better than dogs, and this does prove it. The lion will be my path to power. Perhaps, when I am Sheriff, I will unite them with the wolves that are already my mascot, to create a new and fearsome flag!


	3. Chapter 3

23rd June, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

The Sheriff visited my camp today. I told him little, and gloried in his unease at the obvious signs of the Prince's favour. Unfortunately, Hood then embarrassed me by escaping my first attempt to trap him and feed him to the lion – damn him. He will not escape a second time.

To add to my woes, my sister Isabella has come seeking my protection. Of all the times--! She says she needs my help, that she leads a life of misery, etc etc. Cannot she not manage her own husband? They are bound in holy wedlock; she should try to make the best of it!

She fell in briefly with Hood before she reached me – I do not know how, but no doubt Hood was being chivalrous again, damn him. She aided them in their escape – I believe the mustard powder they used to blind us was hers. She swears that helping him was a mistake, one that she will not repeat, but I shall have to watch her. Isabella has sworn that her loyalty is to me, but I have heard that from others, and always it proves false.

Still, I have allowed her to stay. If she is so unhappy that she ran away, I daresay he is as cruel as she claims. She was never a coward. I remember the fire, how we were driven from the village by Bailiff Longthorn and the peasants. We set out for France that night, not having anywhere else to go, and in complete ignorance of the world. That was a hard and bitter journey, and she bore it bravely, though she was but a child.

Besides, taking her back to her husband would be more trouble than it is worth. If Thornton comes seeking her, he will have to negotiate with me first. He will find me no mere friendless stripling this time!

\---

24th June, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

Lion plan failed. Hood and his gang released the animal and shut the gates to my camp, locking us in. I was forced to use Isabella as a shield. Many of Prince John's men grievously wounded/dead. Lion was finally cornered and killed. Prince John will not be happy about the loss of his pet.

Sheriff has agreed to take me back. Humiliating! He thought I had been distracted by a woman – had to explain that she is my sister. I will not crawl for him, though. I have done enough of that for one lifetime. The Sheriff must look to himself – I am no longer his sword and shield.

Isabella seemed unwontedly amused at my disgrace. She is still sore because of why I gave her to Thornton: for the good bride price he gave. If she did not want to know, she should not ask. 'Tis just like a woman to dwell on past history and completely forget our current predicament!

Do not know how I will explain this to Prince John.

\---

14th July, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

I cannot get back to sleep. Prince John sent for me – in fact, he had me dragged from my bed in the middle of the night. I was embroiled in a nightmare, and thought the armed men were a continuation of the evil dream until I was fully awoken by the night air outside. I have rarely been so terrified. I thought I would be executed on the spot for my failure!

I did not know the Prince was coming to Nottingham. He camps in Sherwood tonight, but plans to continue to the castle tomorrow. He was not happy that my plan to kill Hood had been such a disaster. He wants me to prove my devotion: he wants me to kill the Sheriff.

Can I do it? Do I want to do it? Well, I dare not disobey the Prince's orders. And as to the second question: YES! A thousand times, yes! The Sheriff is the progenitor of all the evils in my life. He has poisoned my life, and I would willingly wipe him from the face of the Earth. I only wish I had done it when Marian suggested it! 

\---

15th July, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

Almost had an opportunity to stab the Sheriff in the back, but Isabella made an untimely appearance. Then Prince John arrived in Nottingham. He made no secret of his disappointment at finding the Sheriff alive. Royalty feels no need to be subtle, it seems.

I saw the Sheriff leaving Prince John's rooms this evening. I do not trust either of them. Prince John is not a patient man, nor a forgiving one. I suspect the Sheriff has been given orders to kill me. Later, at supper, I thought I saw the Sheriff eyeing a bowl of prunes that had been set near me. They are my favourites, so immediately I was suspicious of poison. I must have been mistaken, though, for when I had the serving boy try one, they were safe.

I cannot relax, though! The Sheriff is a dangerous enemy, and my situation is precarious. I cannot withdraw from the path I am on: I must kill him before he kills me.

\---

16th July, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

The Sheriff is dead! I have had my revenge!

We both understood that we had reached the point of no return today when I tried to bury him beneath a burning wall, after Prince John set fire to Locksley Church with all the villagers inside (honestly, Isabella will not get very far with the Prince if she continues to object to his whims!). I was unsuccessful, and he tried to shoot me with a crossbow, but fortunately the arrow landed in the back of a peasant who had also been trying to kill me. From then on, open war was declared.

I absented myself from supper and awaited him in his chapel, leaving word where I could be found. I was eager to have done with it – and I believe he felt the same, for he came to find me... We fought. I am stronger, but he is tricky as a snake: at one point, I had him at my mercy, and would have despatched him slowly and carefully – he begged me to make it quick – but when I took pity and raised my sword to deliver the killing blow, he stabbed me in the thigh! The wound is deep, and continues to bleed even now. I felt the dagger scrape on bone as he twisted it, and the very memory is enough to make me queasy. I must take care that it does not become infected.

I fought on with the dagger still embedded, which gave him the upper hand. He pushed me from the battlements – I managed to cling to the stones, but he stood over me with my own sword in his hand. And then, although he had been trying hard to kill me, he told me he loved me like a son, and reminded me that I had once loved him like a father. And he was right. I truly believe he would have been no less callous towards his own flesh and blood.

But he had foolishly left me a weapon: the dagger in my thigh. As he leaned over to finish me off, I wrenched it from my leg and sank it into his evil heart. I struggled back to safety, and when I reached it, I found he was still alive – barely. With his final breath, he warned me not to trust Prince John. "Nothing is what it seems," he said. In his own twisted way, I believe that he cared.

My past record at confirming the death of my enemies may be poor, but of this one, I can at least be certain. I checked his breath, and then – knowing Prince John would want proof – I took his false tooth. A gruesome trophy! I could not bear to have further dealings with the body, and have told my men to deal with it discreetly. The Prince has announced that the Sheriff was murdered by Hood (of course, he will not have Nottingham razed).

Prince John must announce me as the new Sheriff soon; there can be no other logical choice. And then I will have the power and wealth I have always desired. I must be happy then.


	4. Chapter 4

23rd August, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

Prince John has not yet confirmed me as Sheriff. What is the point of all this fighting if I do not succeed? I must have it – I must. It is the only thing left to me.

The Prince remains in Nottingham, and flirts revoltingly with my sister – who flirts back. I would be grateful for her support in sweetening his temper, except that I do not believe she is doing it to help me. I do not know what her ambition is, but Prince John's favour is precarious, and she is playing a dangerous game. Today he is convinced that he saw her with Hood, and wants me to follow her. If I catch her with the outlaw, they are both to die. I could not find any good reason to object. I pray that he is mistaken, for if not, I cannot save her.

I am tired of all this political manoeuvring. There is a drought across the shire, the wells are drying up, and the peasants complain endlessly. Prince John has a ridiculous plan to win their affection by stopping up the spring that bubbles up under the castle and feeds all the rivers, and then giving the peasants water "from his personal supply" (i.e. the same spring).

He is worse than the Sheriff. I thought I would be free, but I am not! I am still just as much a slave to the whims of another man in a position of power over me. This is untenable. My patience wears thin.

\---

24th August, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

I am Sheriff! 

I followed my sister to the forest. As Prince John suspected, she was conspiring with Hood – I will never trust her again, not after I have seen her kissing that outlaw! I shackled them together, but Isabella pleaded with me not to kill her. I agreed I would lie to Prince John on her behalf... if she would prove her loyalty by killing Hood. I gave her my sword, but Hood used the shackles and... actually, I am not completely certain of what happened. It was a very confusing three-way fight, and I am still not sure what side Isabella was on. She is impossible to read – and I suspect she herself does not know to whom her loyalties belong. Hood knocked me unconscious, and when I awoke – tied to a tree – they were gone.

When I had worked my way loose, I returned to the castle and trapped them in the cellars. I had overheard their plans as I spied on them in the forest: they were going to free the spring so the water would return to the rivers. I locked the trapdoor, and have left them to drown in the water they liberated. 

I told Prince John that they were dead, whereupon he fulfilled his promise at last: he did proclaim me Sheriff. The people raised their goblets to salute me – ME! My moment of triumph has arrived!

\---

25th August, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

I am an outlaw.

I... am an outlaw. Me. 

An outlaw.

It does not seem real.

For a moment, I had it in my grasp. I was Sheriff – and for a moment, I triumphed. But just for a moment.

My diary entry yesterday was premature. When I returned to the hall, Prince John wished to visit the cellars, as his men had caught another of Hood's gang – a pretty wench – and locked her down there for the Prince's sport. But when we arrived, Hood and Isabella were in the process of escaping. Unbelievable! And then Isabella, damn her, informed Prince John that I had agreed to free her in the forest. After all I have done for her! And then the Prince fired me!

I could not bear it. I attacked him – I attacked the Prince. It is treason. If they catch me, I will be killed for certain.

My sister chose a side at last: Prince John's. She attacked Hood – she seemed angry with him, although I do not know why – and I do not care. At some point in the again very confusing battle, I found myself fighting her – but when I moved in for the kill, she leapt into the flooded cellar. Hood chased Prince John into the water as well. I would have fought Hood then, but his wench had managed to free herself, so I was outnumbered and forced to flee.

Prince John has declared me an outlaw – but he will never be king. I will make sure of that. And my sister! She has betrayed me once too often. She will get what she deserves.

Cannot believe that I am an outlaw!

\---

11th September, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

So King Richard is dead, slain in battle in the Holy Land. Had we but waited... Prince John is to be crowned in Nottingham – and tonight, after two weeks on the run, I am back at Locksley.

Isabella has taken me in. She says she will speak to the Prince on my behalf. It is possible – she was always clever, and Prince John is easily flattered, he can be manipulated. After all, he has forgiven Isabella's indiscretion with Hood. If he would forgive me and reinstate me as Sheriff, I could perhaps bring myself to cancel my plans for his slow and painful death.

When I came to Locksley, I planned to kill her. But when I held the sword at her throat, I could not make that final cut. Why not? She has betrayed me, time and again – why could I not despatch her? Because she is a woman? Because we are family?

No, I think it was because she stared back at me with such hopeless defiance, daring me to strike her down. I recognised it – I understood it. Seeing that look – knowing how it is earned – I could not do it. We are kindred spirits, she and I – and it has nothing to do with the blood in our veins. We are equally lost.

I am glad. Perhaps it can be as it was when we were children left alone in the world – fighting and clawing for our survival together.

Still, I do not trust her. I will not sleep well tonight.

\---

14th September, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

A year ago today, I killed Marian. Ever since then, my world has been spiralling out of control. I have gone from lord to prisoner, from Prince John's trusted emissary to disgraced henchman, from Sheriff to outlaw. Now I am a prisoner again, awaiting execution. This time, there will be no reprieve.

Isabella demanded a price for her aid: she wanted me to apologise for selling her to Thornton. When I dismissed such a foolish idea – why must she continually drag up the past? – she drugged and bound me, meaning to give me up to the Prince. But I am not so easily caught! I woke and escaped, with the help of an unwary maidservant who strayed too close.

So instead I worked up my plan for a royal execution. Prince John's greatest triumph would be followed by his fall from grace – as he did to me. I infiltrated the coronation ceremony, dressed as a guard. But Isabella thwarted me again, damn her! She took the crossbow bolt meant for the Prince, and Hood shot me in the shoulder before I could reload. I believe he escaped with the crown that Prince John was attempting to usurp (Hood claims that Richard is not really dead – not that I care), so at least the coronation cannot go ahead. Now Isabella – with her wound as a badge of honour – is made Sheriff. She tells me she will sign the writ for my death with great pleasure.

Too depressed to go on. I have sunk so low. Think I will give up this diary. What point is there in recording my final miserable days?


	5. Chapter 5

19th September, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

They have thrown a girl – Meg – into the cell next to mine. I think it might be a new form of torture: she will not stop talking. 

She asks me about Isabella – claims they are friends! She says I should not have sold Isabella to Thornton – that he is a monster (Thornton has arrived and taken over as Sheriff; it was under his aegis that Meg was imprisoned). She may be right about him, but she does not understand, I had to make a choice: starve honourably or compromise for money.

She asks about the state of my conscience. What business is it of hers? What's done is done. I cannot change the past, no matter how much I would.

She even has the nerve to comment on my personal appearance. She would not be so bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked if she too had spent the last year in Hell!

She laughs at me.

The sound is not completely unpleasant.

\---

20th September? Time begins to lose all meaning down here.

Dear Diary,

Meg reminds me of you, Marian. Oh, not in the way she won't stop talking, or the way she can't abide the slightest discomfort – you were never so fragile! But she sees good in me, where there is none – as you once did, before I shattered that illusion. 

It is merely because I have shown her the slightest compassion. Her bread was maggoty, and I brushed the creatures from it – I long ago learned not to be squeamish – so she would not go hungry. It was just courtesy to a fellow prisoner, a woman, more delicate than myself. I did nothing more, aside from responding to her chatter – and only because she constantly needled me for answers! And perhaps I smiled at her. I could not help myself: she was being absurd.

So when Isabella returned to free her (having apparently dealt with Thornton), it was to my utter surprise that Meg interceded on my behalf, asking for my freedom. For a moment, I felt... I am not even sure what I felt. Disbelief, confusion... and a distant flicker of hope – an emotion that has become almost alien to me. But Isabella would not listen, of course, and my sentence stands. Her bitterness is almost frightening – I begin to wonder if she has been driven mad.

So now Meg has gone, taking hope with her, and I am alone again in this dank cell. I do not fear to die, Marian – I know the Nottingham executioner keeps his blade sharp! – but I fear what awaits me. I have earned myself a fine seat in Hell – and I earned it upon your body. You tried to help me, but I was greedy, I wanted more than you were ever willing to give. And when I finally realised that you would never be mine, I cast aside every last scrap of humanity I might once have possessed. My wrath, my selfishness, my pride, my fear – they were my undoing. But my worst crime was that I brought you down, too.

I wish I could pray, but I cannot find the words. I am sorry, Marian, for everything I have done.

\---

20th? 21st? I no longer know.

Dear Diary,

Meg returned with wholesome food and a goblet of wine. No matter what my crimes, she would not see such a wretched creature go hungry. But I could not eat. She came upon me in the depths of despair, on my knees, unable even to pray. I spoke to her of Marian, how she believed I could be a better man, and how I destroyed her. I do not know for which of us she shed tears, but I am glad she can, when I cannot. 

I sent her away, but she returned again later – with Isabella's keys! Such foolish, impetuous bravery... Why she would do that for me – I still do not understand. But Isabella suspected the theft and followed, so we did not get far. Worse: for aiding me, for betraying her trust, Isabella has condemned Meg to share my fate. She is to be executed alongside me.

I should have kept my distance – should not have responded to her kindness... I should have stayed strong, stayed contained. I should have been hard, cruel, so she would be glad to be rid of me, like the rest of the world.

She sits beside me now – the guards threw her in my cell rather than bothering to unlock the second one again. She did not cry, but her whole frame trembled with terror and shock, and I could offer no solace but a shoulder to lean on. Now she is dozing. I feel her warmth against me, and I cannot help but be comforted, though the guilt bites hard. I wish I'd been able to push her away. Oh Marian, I am so tired, and my heart aches so. I have no strength left to fight.

\---

A Message from Meg

Dear Guy,

I see this is your diary so I have not red it (you see, I can contain my curiosity!). But I notist your feresome frown as you wrote in it earlier and now you are a-sleep I take the oportunity to stele, the booke and write a note to tell you: YOU ARE NOT RESPONSABLE FOR MY FATE. I chose to help you. Do not blame youreself for my end.

To tell the truth I am terrefied. Iam not strong like you, I can not face my death so calmly. I don't want to die! I had not thought, Isabella could condem me with so little compunctshon. I wander if my farther will think this a just outcom for my disobediance? He will be ashamd, I think he will pretend to forget me. He onlie ever saw me as a commodity to be traded after all. He did not care what I wanted, he thought I should be good and quiete and to marry with whomever he set before me. He was so angry, when I turned down all the suitors he found. But I loved none of them! 

I was so glad to leave him and to be taken under Isabellas wing. I thought I had found freedome, that at last no one would tell me what to think, whom to love. I thought she understode why I want to make my own choises. I was ecsited to think I might help the new lady Sheriff, and that together we might work to make life better for the wimen of this town. But I was wrong about her. She wanted me to follow her blindly juste as much as my father did, to hate all that she hates, to share her bitterness towords all men for the wrongs done to her by her husband – and by you, Guy. But I can not.

You have hurt Isabella but I do not beleave you deserve this death. I am glad I met you, Guy of Gisbourne. Im glad I got to knowe you, in spite of evrything, and Im glad you say I helped you (tho I don't see how). You have done some, horrible things, in your life, but you have been kind to me, and askt nothing in retern. Theire is one personn in this world who would have morned you, had she not all so been about to die! I hope the priests praye for both oure souls, for none else will.

One last thing, in case I don't get the chanse to tell you: dispite what I said, I think youre very handsome.

\- Meg Bennet.

\---

Meg did not perish on the scaffold. 

I cannot write this—

She was so frightened, and so brave. She shook like a leaf, but she stood before the crowd and said not a word – and so I could not be silent. I begged Isabella to spare Meg's life. I would have done anything. I would have apologised a thousand times, on my knees, for every wrong I have ever dealt her, real or imagined! My life does not matter, I doomed myself to a villain's death long ago – but Meg committed no sin; her only fault was in showing too much compassion. But Isabella would not hear my pleas. She knew that Meg was innocent, and yet she felt no pity. We were forced to our knees over the bloodied blocks, and the executioner raised his axe—

And then Hood intervened – and a wretched job he made of the rescue! He certainly was not there to that purpose. If not for my poor Meg, he would no doubt have remained a spectator, and I would be lying in a traitor's grave right now. He shot the executioner, and then the falling axe (which landed wildly, nearly beheading me), and then he left to raid the castle. That must have been his original intention.

Nevertheless, Meg and I seized the chance we were given. But as I helped her down from the scaffold, a soldier came at me with a halberd. I did not see him – but Meg did, and pushed me aside, taking the blow herself. She should not have done so!

The wound was fatal. I could do nothing. I carried her deep into Sherwood, and held her as she faded. She asked for a kiss. I could not refuse her last request, although I do not understand why she would want a kiss from such a despicable revenant. She died in my arms, and I found that tears had not been burned from my heart, after all.

I do not know how long I cradled her body as it grew cold. I have scratched out a grave in the soft earth, and soon I must lay her in it.

I cannot endure this.

How many more innocents must die because of me? Why does God allow this? 

It is too much. It is too much.


	6. Chapter 6

September 1194

Dear Diary,

Winter is beginning to bite. I have no shelter, no food – nothing but a stolen bow and sword, and the clothes on my back. The fire in me burns low, but I am too cold to sleep. I do not care. I will sleep soon enough.

I thought there was someone following me today, but no one appeared. If it had been Hood or his men, they would have attacked by now. When dawn comes, I will continue searching. 

I will go after Hood, and if I survive, Isabella. And then Prince John. I will put an end to this torment, one way or another. Isabella has betrayed me, time and again. It is her fault that Meg is dead. Hood... I cannot even remember all the reasons why he is my enemy.

I do not think I can win – I am in no state to fight. It will be a relief. I am so weary of this world, where the good and innocent die, and animals like myself must live on in pain and fear and anger.

I have lost everything – my love, my home, my hopes. Even when my intentions are good, I cause death and destruction to those around me. I seem to be born to fail, and to cause pain and unhappiness. Well, I will not trouble this world for much longer. 

I stalk Nottingham like a wolf. I am waiting for my moment. I am waiting for the end.

\---

27th September, in this the year of our Lord 1194  
At The Boar and Bell, York

Dear Diary,

I feel untethered. The ground has shifted beneath me – everything takes on a new light... I have found out that I was not responsible for my parents' deaths.

For so many years, I have believed that I was to blame. For so many years, I have lived with the shame – the knowledge that my soul was already damned. Yesterday, I found Robin, and prepared to make an end of it... and then we were both ambushed. Knocked out with blow darts, and when we awoke, many hours later, we were tightly bound. It was Robin's father, Sir Malcolm, whom everyone had long believed dead in the same fire that took my parents. He had followed us, to tell us the true story of what happened, all those years ago. He told us everything – all the secrets so long buried. 

He killed my mother. She was dead before the fire took hold.

It is a long story. I must start from the beginning. When my father was believed lost in the Crusades, Robin's father and my mother... became lovers. They planned to marry, but then my father returned home, and all was thrown into chaos. But father had returned with that terrible disease upon him, leprosy. He was banished from the village, cast into an open grave and forced to climb out on his own! I still remember my burning anger at all the villagers who turned out to witness his humiliation. He had been a good lord to them, a generous man – a brave man who fought for his faith in the Holy Land – and this was to be his repayment?

After that, he was legally dead, and mother was free to remarry. No doubt Malcolm's hopes were revived – but she still loved my father. I do not know what might have happened, if not for the fire. It was an impossible situation, but she was the most determined woman I have ever known. If a way could have been found for us to be together as a family once more, she would have found it. I know it.

But as a boy, I did not understand. I discovered that she had been visiting my father in secret, in the leper colony. I was so angry. I thought she was being selfish – why was she allowed to visit him, and yet I was forbidden? But when I confronted her, she told me that she intended to marry Malcolm, that he would take care of us from now on. I was furious – and afraid! I thought he must be forcing her in some way, I could not believe that she would choose Malcolm over my father, although I see now that it was not that simple. I was angry with father, too – if he loved us, why had he left us for so long to fight in the Crusades? Why had he returned with this terrible disease? Why, when they banished him from the village, did he not fight back? Why did he abandon us?

I confronted him in that horrible colony, told him that Malcolm was forcing mother to marry him. I accused him of not loving us. I do not know if my words had any effect, but the next day, he returned in secret to our home, to speak to mother. Isabella and I waited by the hearth, not daring to hope. But father had been seen – by Robin, of course, the keen-eyed meddler! He told everyone that father had entered the village, breaking the terms of his banishment. Malcolm came to evict him. That was when I tried to stop him, and when the fire began.

I fled the house with Isabella, and there I believed the story ended. But more happened than I knew. Father and Malcolm fought, and Malcolm was the stronger, would have despatched him, but my mother intervened. It was an accidental blow, Malcolm said. He knocked her to the floor, and she hit her head, and did not rise again. My father regained his sword, and could have killed Malcolm on the spot – but he decided to show mercy. He spared Malcolm's life, and stayed behind in the burning house with my mother's body, choosing to end his days there rather than rot slowly in a leper colony. Sir Malcolm fled – coward that he was! – preferring to orphan Robin rather than burdening him with the shame.

Sir Malcolm of Locksley. I hated him then, and I hate him now, no matter that he is dying, and will not live to see Robin again. I will never forgive him for seducing my mother, for causing her death and the death of my father. And yet, guilt is heavy upon my own shoulders. We are damned for the same sins.

Robin was distraught at the tale. He always worshipped his father, I recall. To my surprise, I felt some sympathy for his distress. I know the cruel pain of discovering that you were mistaken in someone you love. Robin was an annoying child, a braggart and a tattle-tale – from the day he picked up a bow he boasted that he was the best in the village, until it became the truth! And he was not so honest, either: he never confessed to the crime that nearly had me hanged as a boy, when he shot down the wheel that nearly crushed the priest. The villagers all believed I had done it – he did not step forward to tell of his guilt. But the fault lay with his father: he was shielded from reality by Malcolm, protected from harsh truths, and regarded by all the villagers as a golden child. He was brought up to believe himself the centre of a benign universe.

Isabella and I were distrusted, because of our beloved, strong-minded French mother. She oversaw the lands herself when we believed father was dead, and the villagers hated her for the presumption. They believed the lands – gifted to my father for his services to the King – should have reverted back to Locksley's care, as they had been before. And of course they did return to that family in the end, after Isabella and I had fled, and with all our parents dead. Robin, lord of the manor at eight years old! I heard that Bailiff Longthorn tried to take over, taking advantage of Robin's youth, but that Robin expelled him, supported by the villagers and that foolish priest. It is no wonder he has such an over-inflated opinion of himself.

But then there is Malcolm's other revelation: Robin and I share a brother.

Mother bore the babe in secret, and would have brought him home if she and Malcolm had wed. His name is Archer – named for a birthmark he bears in the shape of an arrowhead. All we know of him is that he has travelled far and wide, and possesses exotic weapons from the Orient that may be useful in our fight against Isabella. He is in York, and he is set to hang – I don't know whether to blame the Gisborne or the Locksley blood for that! That is why Malcolm tracked us down. He wished us to put aside our enmity, and to find Archer and save him – together. Robin and I. He is clearly mad.

I think Robin and I must be mad, too, for we have agreed to do it.

Robin told me he cannot forgive me for what I did to Marian, and seemed surprised that I did not expect such a mercy. But why should he? I will never forgive myself. Nor will I forgive his father for his crimes. After telling his gang – who were less than pleased to see me! – Robin and I headed to York. We robbed one of Isabella's toll booths on the road, and it was surprisingly easy to work with him. He is sharp and professional. We reached York and have booked rooms at this inn, and I am taking a moment of quiet before I go down to share a meal with him, and plan our invasion of York prison.

I needed to stop and think – and writing this diary has become a way of laying out my thoughts so I can make sense of them. It is almost a compulsion, now – I am amazed that I have managed to drag it with me throughout my exile. The only other person to have seen it is Meg, and I believe what she said, that she did not read what I had written. I read her note with a pain that I cherish close to my heart. I was not worthy of her trust.

I can scarcely believe how much has changed in such a short time.

\---

28th September, in this the year of our Lord 1194  
York prison.

Dear Diary,

I have found my brother. He reminds me of Hood. No wonder they want to hang him.

So now all three of us are in York prison, thanks to Hood. "Get yourself arrested, Guy, find Archer in the dungeons, and then I'll bribe the guards and come and visit you. And then we'll escape!" I should have known not to listen to such a scatterpated plan! Not that I did: as it was Robin's idiotic idea, I suggested that he be the one to get himself arrested. So he threw a hard loaf at a guard – but the fool arrested me instead, thinking I had done it! I cannot win.

In fairness, Robin did break us out – briefly. If Archer hadn't insisted on taking the other prisoners along with us, and if Robin hadn't agreed, we might have made a clean escape. But we were caught. Archer tried to hold Robin hostage, but it failed – there were guards in the outer chamber, when he tried to make his escape. Isabella's lieutenant is here to ask that Robin and I be handed over alive, so she might have the pleasure of killing us. The Sheriff of York was not interested in bargaining, though, so now we are all set to hang.

Archer says that he was doing very well in his own escape plans – namely seducing the Sheriff's wife – and that our interference was unnecessary. Robin jokes that I should be used to prison by now. Archer is demanding to know what I am writing; Robin is telling him to let me be. Now they are squabbling, and soon – ah, yes, now they are brawling.

If this is what it is like to have younger brothers, I count myself fortunate to have missed out on the experience until now. I had better go and bash their silly heads together before they bring the guards down on us.

I will admit that it is hard to feel despondent when imprisoned with these two.

\---

29th September, in this the year of our Lord 1194  
On the road from York

Dear Diary,

I lost my nerve when they put the noose around my neck. Even though I was with Robin and Archer – who seem to have the Devil's own luck – I could feel nothing but the rope pressing into my throat, see nothing but the eager eyes of the crowd. I have faced execution more than once, and never has it been easy, but I could not marshal my courage this time – I could not remember how. I have never felt such blind panic. I hope no one noticed. Robin was nearest, and he has not mentioned it.

But then there were explosions, somehow contrived by Archer's conspirators (I am fortunate that the horse did not bolt and leave me swinging!), and then Robin's gang arrived, although we had not sent for them. Robin and Archer fled – not having nooses around their necks – and I thought for a moment that they had abandoned me. They owed me no loyalty, after all. But no: they had both decided to rescue me in the showiest way possible: by shooting through the rope, which they did with identically brilliant shots, of course. Grateful though I am, I could wish that they had saved me with a little less drama. My nerves cannot take much more.

After all that, Archer refused to join us, as there was no profit in it! And then he stole my horse to make his getaway. He is safe, at least, so our mission was a partial success.

Having brothers is an exhausting business. 

\---

30th September, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

We are back at the outlaw's camp, though the return journey took a great deal longer on foot. I am in an odd position. Robin has accepted me. He speaks up for me to the others, and I do not know what to make of it. He is almost protective of me. I suspect I may have become another of the hopeless causes that he loves to espouse. I do not need a champion!

Except that, in this camp, perhaps I do. The giant (John) and the former Earl of Bonchurch (Much) treat me with grudging acceptance and mutual distrust. Allan and I avoid each other – I think we are both nervous of seeming to conspire. The blonde woman, Kate, makes no secret of the fact that she will never trust me – apparently I murdered her brother, though in truth I do not remember the event. She tolerates me for Robin's sake. She and Robin seem very close. It is... oddly painful for me to witness. I hurt for Marian, and I do not understand why. She would not have expected him to wear the willow for the rest of his life. And it's not as if I am jealous over the screeching harpy!

Tuck is a warrior-priest and an idealist, even more so than Robin. He believes we are fighting a crusade against Prince John and Isabella. I declined his offer of confession – my sins are too heavy for the absolution of one priest, no matter how mighty a servant of the Lord he may be. So now he treats me as he would a sharp tool: he speaks practically of how best to use me in a fight, and he does not trust me not to cut him if I am handled unwarily. He at least does not hold a personal grudge against me. 

Only Robin treats me as a member of the gang – and I am pathetically grateful. I would never have expected this. I would never have imagined that Hood, of all people, would be the solid rock against which I set my back. I know he will lead me into peril, he will endanger my life and liberty – and yet I know he will not let me down.


	7. Chapter 7

11th October, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

The King is returning, and Isabella is stealing peasants. She is sending them to Prince John, to be made into soldiers in his rebellion against Richard. Already Clun and Nettlestone are emptied. She tried to take a hundred men from Locksley, but we arrived in time to stop it.

Now they have come with us to Sherwood. I do not know what we are supposed to do with them. Tuck wants to train them as soldiers – to fight for the King and against John and Isabella. I do not know if that is possible: they are just peasants, and it looks as though the crisis will soon be upon us. Besides, we cannot feed an army upon acorns!

I remember when John and Richard rebelled against their father, twenty years ago. I was a boy when the rebels burned Nottingham – I remember the sorrow in my mother's face as she helped to treat the survivors. King Henry forgave the princes – God rot them – but the country has not forgotten that terrible time. If there is to be war, it must be ended quickly. If we can weaken John, Richard will triumph all the more easily. 

Isabella has chosen the opposing side. She must believe that John is the stronger candidate, and in truth, I can understand her point of view, even if I do not share her trust that the country would be quiescent beneath his tyranny. But John is strong-willed, ambitious, and not afraid to put his schemes into action – and he at least is in England! Perhaps when his brother rebels, the King will finally realise that he needs to stay and produce an heir. We are all at the mercy of these infernal Plantagenets.

\---

12th October, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

Robin has come up with a plan. I do not know if it is madness or brilliance – probably a bit of both. He wishes to take Nottingham, imprison Isabella, and to defend the town against all comers until the King returns.

I have committed myself to this cause, and so I told the outlaws about the tunnel the Sheriff had built under the castle after we returned from the Holy Land. I bless the Sheriff's paranoia: it was known only to me, the Sheriff, and the men who built it – whom I had killed – and so now only I live to hold its secrets. We are to use the peasants as soldiers, after all. Robin has such a strange hold over them. Had they been pressed into service, they would have been afraid, unhappy, weak – useless as soldiers. But because Robin asks them, because he lights them with his own passion, they are willing – eager, even!

But there are ill omens for this venture. We have heard that Isabella has a new lieutenant, one James Blamire. I know him. He is a mercenary, and a friend – as much as the man ever had them – of the old Sheriff. I do not like that Isabella has now found him – I mistrust what it means. Even if I ignore the shiver of superstition that I feel, Blamire cannot be underestimated. He is clever, and entirely ruthless.

And yesterday we found part of Isabella's necklace in camp. It belonged to our mother, and she cherished it. I am puzzled as to how it got there, but no doubt there is some innocent explanation. I am getting as paranoid as the Sheriff! Nevertheless, I showed it to Robin and Tuck. For a moment they doubted me! As if I would be so stupid as to tell them of its origin, if I were still in league with my sister.

And another odd occurrence, although I do not know if I would consider it an ill omen: Kate has disappeared, and we do not know why. Robin seems disturbed, but I confess I am quietly relieved. She once described me as "pure evil", and I do not think my actions since have gentled her opinion one whit.

Even with Robin's luck, we may not return from this venture, so I have told Tuck the location of Meg's grave, and he has promised to say a Mass for her soul. And so I am prepared, and tomorrow we go to Nottingham. God help us all.

\---

13th October, in this the year of our Lord 1194  
Nottingham Castle

Dear Diary,

We have taken the castle – that was the easy part. Easy! My definition of that word has changed. Robin, Much and I were nearly killed in the secret tunnel, buried under tons of limestone gravel. Archer had somehow learned of the tunnel's existence (he is as bad as Robin for stumbling across information at just the wrong moment!), and taken his knowledge to Isabella, hoping to endear himself to his wealthy and powerful half-sister. They set a trap, and we walked right into it. Much and I created a bridge for Robin, to keep him above the falling stones so that one of us might live – but even that was not enough. Archer's trap was too good.

While we were suffocating, Tuck, John and the peasants were staging a peaceful protest before the gates of Nottingham. They sat before the gates, blocking the way and forcing the soldiers to decide whether or not they could strike down unarmed people in cold blood. Even Blamire hesitated, so they say! Isabella was the only one callous enough to strike the first blow – but this served only to convince Archer that he had made a mistake in choosing her side. He rallied the peasants and outlaws, and chased the soldiers from Nottingham – and then came to our rescue, just in time. Now everyone knows about the tunnel, but as it is conveniently blocked by the aforementioned tons of limestone gravel, it should not matter. It was not the worst death I have faced recently, and I was glad to find that I was not unmanned when facing it, this time. Still, every time I shake my hair, a handful of gravel falls out.

We took the city, and made Isabella our prisoner. But the moment of our triumph was short-lived: at the gates lay our first casualty. Allan. We had suspected that he betrayed us – Isabella proclaimed him pardoned, and we could not risk it – and so we had left him tied up in Sherwood. Somehow he must have escaped – and someone had killed him, and left him outside the gates like a cat leaves its prey. When we looked up from our grief, the perpetrator was before our eyes. An army approached – Blamire had fled to join them – and at its head rode...

The Sheriff.

He is alive!

When I saw him, I felt a thrill of fear and dread that set my hairs on end and knotted my stomach. But how did he survive – and why did no one inform me at the time? He must have had loyal men – or ambitious ones – amongst the Nottingham soldiers. He was grievously wounded, he says, but I missed his heart. I begin to think that he does not possess one. He is an implacable enemy – my blood, and our unconditional surrender, is the only apology he will accept. But even after all I have done, Robin refused to hand me over. How different he is to the Sheriff! I was so wrong about them both.

Worse news is that the Sheriff has Byzantine Fire (sold to him by my foolish brother!), and will attack at dawn. So tonight, I go with Robin, Tuck and John to quietly damage their trebuchets. Kate has returned – she and Robin had some idiotic dispute over Isabella's necklace, but it is now settled. She is to be sent away again to Loughborough, to fetch King Richard's troops.

Isabella is in the castle dungeon, where once she imprisoned me. She is wild with rage and fear, to the edge of madness. Whatever the outcome now, she has lost: Prince John will not forgive her for losing the castle. I found I could not bear the thought of how she might suffer, so for our mother's sake, I brought her a bottle of poison. She may use it as a last resort, if she chooses.

We held a funeral for Allan. I wish I had taken the time to speak to him, when first I joined Robin's gang – to tell him that I understood his motives and did not bear a grudge, and that I was glad we ended up on the same side once more. I would have told him that I missed his jokes, except that it is not true: they were appallingly vulgar. But it is too late, and we have no time for mourning. We may all join him soon enough.

\---

14th October, in this the year of our Lord 1194

Dear Diary,

We are in desperate straits, but we must hold out against the siege. The trebuchets are no more: we set them so they would still launch, but straight up in the air, so the missiles came right back down and destroyed them. Moreover, Archer managed to steal some of the Byzantine Fire, which Tuck is attempting to replicate. Still, the Sheriff's men outnumber us by five or six to one, and they are trained, whilst ours are merely peasants – and today we received the unwelcome news that Richard has been taken prisoner in Austria, so his troops will not come to our aid. But we are committed: if we surrender now, or if our defence falters, we will be slaughtered. The Sheriff will give no quarter.

We were unable to hold the town – we would have been stretched far too thinly – so we retreated to the castle, where perhaps we can hold out. The peasants fell back in as good an order as any I have seen – any commander would have been proud. But there are many wounded, and this disheartens them. It disheartens me! We cannot afford to lose a single bowman. I remember when Nottingham was threatened by Prince John's men, when we prepared to fight, and how Marian would not leave. She would not abandon the people. And so, in her memory, I will make my stand at their side. In doing what she would have done, at least I help to preserve a tiny bit of the goodness she brought to the world. I believe – I hope – that she would have been glad of that.

I stay also because of Robin. He may be smug, arrogant, reckless, sanctimonious, and vain, but he is a great leader... and he is a hero. Notions that do not occur to others – or if they do, they dismiss them immediately as wild dreams – are to him as good as done. He inspires others to achieve the impossible. And he would die for the very humblest of these people. He even believes in me. I think I see something of his goodness in Archer, too. I am glad he has come over to our side – although I fear he will not live to fulfil his potential.

I could never hope to match Robin, but I can emulate him, can follow him, and begin to learn as I do so what it means to stand up for an unselfish cause. I do not love each and every smelly peasant – I do not have it in me! – but I see their bravery in facing an enemy so much greater than them, I see how they have been driven to it by the cruelty of their betters, and I begin to understand why a man might wish to stand with them, though it means his life. And I remember Marian, and Allan, and Meg, and wish to honour their memories. I am strangely easy with the decision. As though my heart and mind are no longer at war.

I cannot blame the Sheriff for the man I was. I chose his way, knowing what he was like – I chose him as my route to money, power and security, knowing that what I did was wrong. I selfishly hoped that it would bring me to the fulfilment of my ambition. Of course it did not – the road was accursed. I should have chosen to follow Marian in the Holy Land. She would never have been mine, I know, but she would have lived, and I would not have this heavy weight of guilt upon my shoulders. I might have become a man she could respect – and maybe one day I might have found someone else I could love, who loved me in return.

If we are to win, it will take a miracle. But this time, I fight with Robin Hood. With him at my side, I believe that anything is possible.

\---

15th October, in this the year of our Lord 1194

_A note from Brother Tuck:_

Kate found this book and brought it to me. I have read it, and taken it as Guy might have wanted: in the spirit of the confessional. It is certainly an enlightening document, if at times confused, wrathful, drunken, and self-deluding. Archer told me of their final fight in the tunnel under the castle, but I think there is much we will never know about Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne.

Guy and Robin gave their lives to save the people of Nottingham. They fought beside Archer, standing firm against Isabella, Sheriff Vaisey, the mercenary Blamire, and their men, who had broken through the blocked tunnel and sought to take us unawares. Guy gave his sword to Archer when his own was lost. But just as it seemed they were winning, and Robin stood over the Sheriff with his sword held high, Isabella attacked from the shadows. Unarmed, Guy threw himself forward to protect Robin with his body, and was run through by both the Sheriff and Isabella.

Sadly, his efforts were in vain: Isabella had poisoned her dagger, and in the struggle, managed to graze Robin. It was a mere scratch, but sufficient to be fatal. When they realised that both Guy and Robin would die, Isabella and the Sheriff were overjoyed. They fled to rejoin their army and enter the castle. As Death's icy grip closed around him, Guy spoke of a hidden cellar where the people could hide as the soldiers passed, and thereafter escape to safety. Then he bade farewell to Archer, the brother they had so recently found, who would now lose them both. In Robin's arms, Guy breathed his last.

Robin survived long enough to lead the people safely out of the castle. His final arrow flew unerringly through a window of the Great Hall, and lit the barrels of Byzantine Fire we had created and stockpiled there. I am sure there has never been an explosion like it in all England. Nottingham Castle fell, obliterating the Sheriff, Isabella, and all their men. The people are freed from their tyranny at last! With his final strength, Robin retreated into Sherwood, wishing to die alone. His friends are heavy with grief, but his spirit is now with Marian.

Guy had some evil deeds to his name, it is true, and we cannot undo the past, nor should we forget those whose lives he darkened. But we also remember that he died bravely, in the selfless protection of others. We, the outlaws who came to know him, will honour the good he has done. I pray that God has mercy on his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, after precisely 100 diary entries, we have reached the end, people! Thank you all so much for following me on this journey through madness, despair, denial, alcoholism, anachronism, homicide, fratricide, peasantcide, attempted regicide, and the odd lion. Thank you very much for all the comments, they kept me energised and inspired, and my sincere apologies for exposing you to this ridiculous show – and, er, for not warning you that the end was nigh. :)
> 
> Given that a) he's been stabbed, b) twice, c) one of the blades was poisoned, d) Nottingham Castle was then dropped on him, and e) the actor is in New Zealand playing the world's tallest Dwarf*, I think it's safe to say that Sir Guy is definitely dead. I for one will miss him, even though he was a total moron. I actually, genuinely cried while writing that last entry. In my defence, it was late and I'd had a glass or two of wine. I don't know why I'm so fond of him (okay, I have SOME clue *cough*cough*RichardArmitageinleather*cough*), but he's been one of the most fun POVs to write. Also possibly the least emotionally-intelligent – and my list includes Wolverine, Jack O'Neill, and Felger.
> 
> I'm not done playing in this world, of course. All that was just what happened on the show – and some of their ideas were so utterly stupid, they clearly need AUs to fix them. I mean, killing off Meg, for instance...
> 
>  
> 
> *Although, actually, it's the last day of filming today, haha.


End file.
